If You Love My Body …
A few days ago, I was talking to a gifted acoustic guitar player when he brought up the subject of musicians’ physiques. The term “physique” covers a person’s body structure … good or bad, buff or flab. But it is mainly associated with the concept of an ideal body shape. In other words, the “right look.”
Sadly, the world many musicians inhabit is anything but gentle and kind. My friend took the position that he was reluctant to share the stage with anyone who did not have the toned physique of a Doberman Pinscher. His stance is that real performers should be lean and mean, just like fabled Rock ‘n Rollers who have lost every extra ounce of body fat to the rigors of the road. Without being said, the message is: Image is as important as the music you hear. Maybe even more important?
Perhaps that misguided belief is a product of birth. I give mercy and latitude to anyone born at least 40 years ago. If you were born after 1970, that means you came of “Rock ‘n Roll” age in the early or mid 1980s. Your heroes shredded away in skin-tight stretch pants. Were as topless as a French beach. Wore makeup like your sister. No wonder you’re confused.
Why is it so important that musicians need to look a certain way if they want to be taken seriously? Truth be told, we all desire a body like Lance Armstrong’s. But at some point in our lives, many of us make that charge up Hamburger Hill. The casualties are many, and the wounds most of us bear (and bare) add a notch or two to our belt sizes.
So then we ask: Why are rock musicians typically so skinny? The early British rockers had an excuse. They spent the first of their formative years in bomb shelters. Food was rationed, especially sugary “sweets.” As a result, the war produced thousands of runts. Look at the super-talented keyboard player Nicky Hopkins. His head took up a full third of his body size. He unfortunately died before the start of casting for “Lord of the Rings.” Odds are he would have been offered some Hobbit bit part.
Even though before MTV, we took in Rock ‘n Roll mainly through our ears, image has always been a dominating force. The Rolling Stones excluded Ian Stewart from their stage performances, but leaned heavily on his barrel-house piano for their early albums. Ian looked a lot like Jay Leno. Compared to the other Stones, he came across as a gentle giant who favored golf shirts. He didn’t have the “snot” factor that the Rolling Stones had carefully molded into their image. But Ian proved invaluable to the band as their quasi manager, herding the Stones and their equipment from gig to gig in a timely fashion. And he kept them in line (even Keith) until the moment of his untimely death.
And everyone is aware (or should be) about the role drugs play in shaping rockers’ bodies. Touring is a form of physical torture, right up there with water-boarding, and a preferred method of staying conscious between a seemingly endless string of shows is consuming a steady diet of uppers, cocaine and whatever other high-octane concoction comes roaring down the pike.
Like it or not, the accepted physique for rockers and performers working many other venues is lean and mean. Also country music stars. Interestingly though, we don’t mind our rappers living large.
It is the same phenomenon seen inside television news. Where is it written that only thin, super-attractive people are qualified to explain the days events to us couch potatoes? I used to be a newspaper reporter, and I know for a fact that lots of big-nosed, balding men who look like Lou Grant and stringy-haired, dumpy women who could double as bag ladies have more talent in their little fingers than most of the broadcast reporters and anchors I used to know.
Now having blathered on about misguided images, I cannot say there is anything wrong with being skinny. The ancient Greeks placed high standards on the male physique. But then again, they liked to wrestle naked, which today is considered a tad improper in some circles.
Truth be told, we Americans are largely a nation of super-sized slobs. Your Momma’s so fat that she has to sit at the back of a concert in order to get a front-row seat. I have been to Europe a few times, and on the “Continent,” the citizens in general seem fit and trim. One reason for this is that many are physically active on a daily basis. They often walk a mile or more to work and their diet is usually free from the grease and the mountains of carbs and fats we shovel down our guts. They also collectively smoke more than a forest fire. Lighting up is a form of oral gratification. It also doesn’t leave much money for a trip to McDonald’s. Jolly old England may be the exception. When I watch BBC America on the Telly, I see plenty of tubbies who keep the British stretch pants industry humming 24/7.
It is sad that some American musicians are quick to segregate their big brothers. In the course of any week or month, I rub elbows with many super-sized guitar and bass players who, talent-wise, far outdistance their skinny-butt poser cousins. And I’m not talking inches … I’m talking miles. Musical talent is certainly not limited to the realm of the petite. Just look at rock pioneer Leslie West of Mountain (I love that his group was so aptly named). Behold Meatloaf, a virtual second helping. Also, witness blues players. By and large (pun), many are fat and happy. And they can play the Python pants off many a streamlined guitar hero.
I used to avidly ride mountain bikes, and like a good junkie subscribed to all the popular magazines. The sport had a respectful moniker for its larger brethren. They are called Clydesdales, like the mighty horses you see in the Budweiser beer commercials (beer is good). Clydesdales were not considered inferior. They were in a league of their own, and in downhill events, gravity honors their physical gift.
I long for the day when the Clydesdales of the music world are eagerly welcomed to share the stage with their streamlined cousins. Let’s peel away all the crazy layers we impose to get to that which is tasty. The music.
